


light is an invitation to happiness

by athenasdragon



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley is cold-blooded, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 21:54:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19326841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenasdragon/pseuds/athenasdragon
Summary: A fall is usually something accidental, abrupt, and with a defined destination. For example: “When Crowley Fell from heaven, the journey was accidental and abrupt, and when it was finished he found himself up to his knees in brimstone.”Crowley thought he knew what it meant to fall. He had experience, after all, falling from heaven, falling out of the Almighty’s favor. That is why he was so surprised to realize that he had been falling for Aziraphale for nearly six thousand years.The realization came in a tiny cell in France during the Reign of Terror when Aziraphale turned, haloed by the light streaming through the tiny window, and uttered Crowley’s name with as much reverence as he had ever used to address the Divine. By that point he had been falling for a long time, but it was the first time he recognized the swooping sensation in his stomach as vertigo.Title from Mary Oliver's poem "Poppies"





	light is an invitation to happiness

**Author's Note:**

> Poppies by Mary Oliver
> 
> The poppies send up their  
> orange flares; swaying  
> in the wind, their congregations  
> are a levitation
> 
> of bright dust, of thin  
> and lacy leaves.  
> There isn’t a place  
> in this world that doesn’t
> 
> sooner or later drown  
> in the indigos of darkness,  
> but now, for a while,  
> the roughage
> 
> shines like a miracle  
> as it floats above everything  
> with its yellow hair.  
> Of course nothing stops the cold,
> 
> black, curved blade  
> from hooking forward—  
> of course  
> loss is the great lesson.
> 
> But I also say this: that light  
> is an invitation  
> to happiness,  
> and that happiness,
> 
> when it’s done right,  
> is a kind of holiness,  
> palpable and redemptive.  
> Inside the bright fields,
> 
> touched by their rough and spongy gold,  
> I am washed and washed  
> in the river  
> of earthly delight—
> 
> and what are you going to do—  
> what can you do  
> about it—  
> deep, blue night?

A fall is usually something accidental, abrupt, and with a defined destination. For example: _“When Crowley Fell from heaven, the journey was accidental and abrupt, and when it was finished he found himself up to his knees in brimstone.”_

Crowley thought he knew what it meant to fall. He had experience, after all, falling _from_ heaven, falling _out of_ the Almighty’s favor. That is why he was so surprised to realize that he had been falling _for_ Aziraphale for nearly six thousand years.

The realization came in a tiny cell in France during the Reign of Terror when Aziraphale turned, haloed by the light streaming through the tiny window, and uttered Crowley’s name with as much reverence as he had ever used to address the Divine. By that point he had been falling for a long time, but it was the first time he recognized the swooping sensation in his stomach as vertigo. It never seemed to stop after that, either; each time he thought he had finally reached the state of being “in love,” the angel would smile at him when he thought he wasn’t looking or say something absurd accompanied by that little defensive frown and Crowley’s heart would leap into his throat and he would find that he had never quite hit solid ground.

And now here he was, alive in spite of everything, his arm pressing up against Aziraphale’s every time the little bus from Tadfield to London jostled them. They had both sobered up a while ago after the motion became too much for their stomachs full of wine. Now, they rode in what both believed the other thought was companionable silence. Aziraphale was worrying about whether to accept Crowley’s casual offer to stay at his flat, wondering whether he was placing too much meaning on the invitation. Crowley was worrying because the offer had been anything but casual.

“You know,” Aziraphale said suddenly after neither of them had spoken for nearly an hour, “perhaps it would make sense for me to stay at your flat. I mean,” he laughed a little nervously, “without the bookshop, it’s not as though I have anywhere else to go. And I don’t think I can be any further from heaven’s favor than I am now.”

“Oh, you could,” Crowley said without thinking, and then Aziraphale’s answer hit him properly. “So… you’ll stay with me?”

“If it wouldn’t be any trouble.” The answer was script-perfect polite, but Crowley wished that he could read the angel’s odd expression more clearly in the low light of the bus.

“It wouldn’t. Well. No more trouble than we’re already in.”

* * *

 

Crowley tried to steer Aziraphale directly to the kitchen table for a cup of tea, suddenly worried what the angel would be able to read about him from the objects in his apartment, but Aziraphale spotted the greenery two rooms over and was suddenly the one steering Crowley over to the plants.

“They’re lovely,” Aziraphale cooed, reaching out a hand to cup one of the leaves for closer examination. “You must take very good care of them.”

Crowley indignantly pulled Aziraphale’s hand away. “I’m not _nice_ to them, angel, they grow like that because they know what’s good for them.”

“Well I think that they’re doing a wonderful job,” Aziraphale said, addressing the plants. “Your hands are freezing,” he added as an aside, cupping Crowley’s hands in his own and rubbing them slightly to warm them.

Crowley found himself rooted in place by the angel’s touch. His hands were so soft and warm and gentle. He was used to being plagued by a perpetual chill, what with being cold-blooded, but as Aziraphale delicately kneaded his palms and fingers, he was filled with a warm flush that began in his hands and spread throughout his body until the feeling threatened to spill over. Not just warmth—tingling, melting warmth that made him want to purr with contentment.

“Angel?” he said in a strangled voice.

“Hm?” Aziraphale was still engrossed with the house plants.

“What are you doing?”

“Your hands are cold,” Aziraphale reiterated as though Crowley was being deliberately dense.

“No, what’s—what’s that you’re doing with the…” He pulled one of his hands free to gesture helplessly at his entire body. “The thing. You’re doing something else.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re—” It was Aziraphale’s turn to freeze, his face suddenly going a wonderful shade of pink. “Oh. I apologize. Did I hurt you?”

The feeling stopped as abruptly as it had begun and Crowley suppressed a shiver as the warmth faded. “No, it felt—nice. Why? What was that?”

Aziraphale flushed deeper and muttered something unintelligible.

“What?”

Rubbing his face with his hands, Aziraphale repeated his mumbled explanation.

Crowley grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away from his face. “Speak up, angel.”

“It was love!” Aziraphale cried wretchedly. “It was love, Crowley. I don’t have much control how it manifests, it’s just an angel thing.”

“Oh,” Crowley breathed. And slowly, very slowly, a gear began ticking round deep in his mind as he thought through the last few days.

Aziraphale continued trying to explain himself, unaware that the demon wasn’t hearing a word he said. “It’s been a long week, I wasn’t thinking—and I know that you can’t—that you don’t—well, I can leave if you would prefer, but—but that’s what it was.”

Meanwhile, Crowley was suddenly very aware that his hands were still around Aziraphale’s wrists as the angel stammered.

“Aziraphale?”

“Y-yes?”

Crowley kissed him.

Despite everything the demon still felt a sharp spike of nervousness as their lips collided, but it was washed away in the tide of pure, unadulterated love that flooded through him once more. Aziraphale made a noise somewhere between surprise and delight and twisted his hands so that he could grasp Crowley’s arms as Crowley held his; his grip was firm and hot and decisive.

If Aziraphale felt suddenly grounded and reassured, Crowley felt as though the floor had dropped out from beneath him for the thousandth time since their first meeting. The sensation was too familiar to be unpleasant. It was the rush of going over the peak on a roller coaster—and Crowley might indeed have whooped in response if his mouth was not otherwise occupied.

They stumbled together until Aziraphale’s back hit the wall. Crowley groaned into the kiss, his corporeal nervous system almost overloaded by the combination of his own glee and the love still flowing into him from every point of contact with the angel. He ignored the way the leaves of his plants curled almost curiously over their heads and tried something daring with his tongue.

Aziraphale gasped and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him so close that Crowley could almost imagine that they were seconds away from fusing into one whole being. The thought startled him enough that he lost the rhythm of the kiss, but Aziraphale curled his fingers in his hair and pressed reverent kisses to his chin, his cheeks, his temple while Crowley regained his breath.

“Bed?” he managed to choke out eventually.

Aziraphale pulled back a little. “Oh, I don’t really—I’m not—”

“Me neither angel, it’s all right.” Crowley tucked his face into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. “’M tired.”

“You’re not trying to tempt me?”

Crowley pulled back and took off his sunglasses with one hand (leaving them neatly folded on the edge of the nearest planter) so that he could look Aziraphale in the eye properly. “Would I do that to you?”

After a few seconds of eye contact, Aziraphale shook his head dismissively. “No.”

“Then come with me.”

Crowley drew Aziraphale along behind him to his bedroom, which was sparse except for the huge, luxurious bed in its center. Aziraphale immediately sank onto it with a sigh, then stood, removed his coat, folded it primly, and left it on the chair in the corner before flopping backwards onto the comforter.

His expression of pure indulgent enjoyment was one of Crowley’s favorites: eyes closed, mouth curled in a slight smile. Crowley slipped out of his jacket and allowed it to fall crumpled to the floor, never taking his eyes off of Aziraphale as he sauntered towards the bed, unable to stop the smile from creeping over his own features.

Aziraphale opened his eyes when the bed shifted as Crowley crawled onto it. “You know,” he said, “you should go without the sunglasses more often. You have lovely eyes.”

“Ha ha.” Crowley crawled over Aziraphale and admired him for a moment from his position perched above him before dipping down to kiss his neck and allowing himself to settle on top of him like a reptile on a sun-warmed rock—except in this case, of course, the rock was a delightfully soft angel, and instead of warmth it radiated pure divine love.

“It wasn’t a joke, my dear.” Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hair in silence for a moment. “I’m very glad we’re both still here, you know.”

Crowley, who preferred not to think about how close they had come to being forced to battle each other in a world-destroying cosmic war, simply hummed his agreement and hugged Aziraphale tighter.

It would take Crowley less time to recognize the end of his fall than the start. Even so, it would be a few weeks before he allowed himself to believe that he had reached a stable resting place. He really was still here, and so was Aziraphale, and in the mornings they drank tea at his kitchen table and at night they rested together in bed while Crowley indulged his love of sleeping and Aziraphale indulged his love of Crowley. There were still things to negotiate—they weren’t sure that they were off the hook yet with their respective home offices, and Aziraphale was preoccupied with decoding Agnes Nutter’s final prophecy—and more often than not Crowley could not allow himself to believe that an angel as intelligent and good as Aziraphale could love anything like himself.

But then Aziraphale would smooth down his hair and smile when he knew that Crowley was looking, and Crowley would suddenly be very aware of the Earth beneath his feet. Solid. Younger than the both of them, but constant nonetheless. Non-destroyed. And when he returned Aziraphale’s smiles and felt a lurching in his stomach, it was nothing more than happiness.

It wasn’t so bad once he got used to it.


End file.
